Gesture: Life in a Box… 

It is my pleasure to announce: Dawn Lundy Martin’s Life in a Box is a Pretty Life—a review.
Many thanks and love to Sally and all the folks at Gesture! 




How do we resist succumbing to the dark after let down? “Crushed like a bug on the ground.” 

I am thinking about the beauty of failure. The hidden glory of not taking the path we thought we could see ourselves walking. I am close to calling failure “a blessing in disguise.” After reading about the state I currently live in and considering HIStory’s present dark shadow, I call out to my home. While these upsets and hidden secrets haunt city halls, the ghosts in L.A. keep us in check. Welcoming all while drawing colorlines around the inner city. 

Is our failure the inability or denial of a history that is not dead? Do we respond by speaking of and to ghosts? 

I consider my own (failed) projects. A composition of failure. “Watch me fail. Watch me (not) fail.” Pulling the manuscript apart. Placing the pages on the walls. What did the wind take away? Standing on a mountain somewhere in Colorado, a small girl was seen with wonderment in her eyes. All she wanted to do was play. Now she is learning how to play inside homogenous intention. A “former” exclusionary state is a state of closure. How can we play out in the open, lush PNW forest if the stakes are already stacked against us?

So then, this next run on the horizon is a “means to an end,” as they say. A way towards home. 


Remove froze from the equation. There was a slam. A flash. Red lurch. Then, pulled back in time to prevent incredible shame. There are times when the question: “Is this who i am?” floats across the surface.

Speaking only of shallow waters, even the leaves want space to fan and curl inwards. As if, protecting themselves from stones and wind. Or rather, preparing themselves to collect rain.

With broken wing, still fragile and sensitive to touch, is a bird still free? When broken are we ever the “thing” we thought we were? While healing, we glimpse the broken pieces that make us up only to find that perhaps this piece or that piece is unnecessary to be “whole” again. A reinventing. A refurbishing. And after rest and rejuvenation we are left with pieces that fit the broken puzzle and with blank, open space. Are we searching for something to help mend or fill these gaps?

Or are these gaps the very essence of our (w)holeness?

Photo by George Ohm, Hobbit Beach, OR, 2015